


Reincarnation Guide

by TheIsekaiWorld



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But Sort Of I Guess, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, More Realistic Mafia, Not Really a Self-Insert, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29213634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIsekaiWorld/pseuds/TheIsekaiWorld
Summary: Whoever is responsible for this reincarnation business, I will find you, and I will fight you.Or, the misadventures of a teenage boy stuck in the body of one Miura Haru, by yours truly.
Relationships: Sawada Tsunayoshi & Original Character(s), Vongola Tenth Generation Guardians & Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fic. I'll warn you ahead of time that English isn't my first language, so if there's anything wrong, feel free to correct me. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Look, I wish I could tell you something cool about death. A cool detail that would make the prospect less scary, less of an unknown factor. But the truth is that I don’t remember much from my death. Oh, I could talk for hours about what happened _before_ I died, how my brother didn’t hear the stupid fire alarm because he was listening to some K-Pop song with his damn headphones, like always, or how my parents weren’t home because they’d taken a day off for once, to have dinner together. That’s all useless to you, though, isn’t it? It’s even useless to me, and that was my life, once upon a time. Before I woke up in the white walls of a hospital room, confused, disoriented, and absolutely sure I’d somehow managed to survive third-degree burns. 

But then I looked at my hands, expecting… God, I don’t know. Burns. Bandages. Whatever you’re supposed to have after almost being burnt alive. And all I saw was the tiny, healthy hand of an infant. Yeah, that’s right. A baby hand. Let that sink in: a fifteen year old wakes up in a hospital room and stares at his hands, only to find the soft fingers of a week-old baby. 

I don’t think I cried at first, mostly because I didn’t believe my own eyes. I must have been hallucinating, sedated, in a coma back home, with my parents worried by my side; my idiot brother safe and sound, and probably whining about something or other. I’d wake up any moment, and I’d see them, and we would all be happy, and this would all just be a warning about fire hazards, and household safety protocols. 

As you may have guessed, I didn’t wake up. Or, rather, I woke up several times, still stuck as a baby. I’ll spare you the details of dealing with the realization that you have lost your entire life, that your parents are gone, that you don’t know if your brother made it out of the house in time. The nurses got the worst of it anyway. Pretty sure they thought I was sick for a little bit there, until I got my shit together again. 

First, I had to gather information. I had no idea where I was, no clue what language these people were using, and no way to ask anyone for help. So the main goal was to figure out which country had been lucky enough to have me reincarnated. It wasn’t too difficult, really. In the end, I saw a Japanese flag as the people who I assumed to be my parents drove me out of the hospital.

“ _Haru-chan,_ ” the strange woman who may or may not be my mother said, followed by a string of utterly incomprehensible gibberish. “ _Ne?_ ”

I tried for a smile, and that seemed to be enough for her. She went back to chatting with (presumably) my father, and I was content to just smile vacantly at them both. I mean, it wasn’t their fault they were stuck with a weird teenage infant son. They deserved the chance to experience the joy of being new parents. Even if I couldn’t really think of them as such. 

Fake it ‘til you make it, right? 

Suddenly, I felt a weird sensation on my lower abdomen. I frowned, trying to ignore it, and… oh no. The worst part about being a baby. Even worse than being stuck in one single place due to a lack of motor skills, or the absolute lack of agency. Worse than anything, really. The fucking need to go to the bathroom, and the knowledge that only a diaper can help you. 

Whoever is responsible for this reincarnation business, I will find you, and I will fight you. 

I looked down for a moment while my new mother changed me, and then I noticed a detail that I’d fail to notice before… I lacked something down there. Like, as a male, a biological male, I should have… but there wasn’t… 

Oh.

Oh come on. 

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Haru-chan?” my mom asked, concerned, but I was too busy trying to process the fact that I was, apparently, a _girl_. Fuck my life.

If I ever find the entity guilty for this, I will kill it myself.


	2. Of Baseball Fiends

Almost a decade should be enough time to forget a life that will never come back, right? Should be long enough for the memory of a different body to fade into whichever corner of the brain hides that information from the rest of the world. Getting up in the morning should be easier by now, seeing a different reflection on the mirror shouldn’t hurt so much.

“Miura Haru!”

My heart does a very weird jumpy thing inside my chest as the rest of the class snickers at the teacher’s irritated face. Ah, man, what was his name again? Hashi-something. Hashi… Hashi… 

“If you’re not interested in the class, Miura-san, you can spend the rest of the hour in the hallway!”

Crap.

“I apologize..." Ah, shit, I really don't remember his name. “Hashimete-sensei?”

One of my classmates snorts. No ten-year-old should be able to snort like that, the snotty little brat. My teacher just sighs with the exasperated air of someone who’s at the end of the rope, and would like nothing more than to jump into the abyss that awaits below. He points to the door and I march outside for what must be the third time in a week. 

In my defense, it’s kinda difficult to focus on school when you’ve done it once before. Maybe I should just say that to Hashi-sensei. _Yeah, I know you’re actually a pretty decent teacher, it’s just that I already know primary school math. Being reincarnated into a girl really gives me an edge over the rest of the class, y’know?_ Wonder how long it’d take them to send me to a psychiatrist after that. 

“Oh, haha, you got kicked out too?”

The unexpected voice cuts right through the last of my inner monologue, as a boy around my age smiles at me. I blink once in surprise—honestly, how many students get cast out into the solitary confines of the hallway?—, then remember how to be a normal human being and nod.

“Hashi-sensei takes offense when you get distracted by the awesome views from the window.” I smile back at him. “What are you in for?”

“Almost broke a window with my bat.”

“Were you swinging it in the middle of class?”

“Haha. Yeah. Probably not a good idea?”

“Terrible idea. Still awesome.” The kid looks pleased at that statement. We shouldn’t be bonding over our crimes like this, but hey, this is the hallway. Lawless place with no teachers to control our reckless behavior. “I’m Miura Haru… ka,” the last part comes on a whim, mostly because the teachers are already aware of my gender, but my peers could still be influenced to see the truth. Or that’s the goal, at least.

“Yamamoto Takeshi.”

“Nice to meet you, fellow criminal.” I take out a tiny piece of paper from my trousers’ pocket. “Wanna play catch?”

“Won’t we get in trouble?” 

“We’re already in trouble. Let’s just make the most of it.”

Yamamoto laughs. Kid’s got a pretty nice laugh, to be honest. Makes you feel all relaxed and calm, like there’s nothing wrong in the world. Like for just that one moment, everything is at peace. Gotta love social butterflies sometimes. 

The dreaded hour of boredom becomes a cherished moment instead, as we pass the ball to each other in increasingly difficult ways, then pretend to be miserable whenever the teachers poke their heads out to check on us. Honestly, that’s kinda what being a child is all about, doing dumb things with your friends, enjoying the fact that we get to be carefree before the world throws a heap of responsibility on us. Just treasuring every moment like it is the last, because childhood doesn’t last.

Nothing does, really. 

“You’re making a weird face, Miura.”

“I always have a weird face, Yamamoto, don’t be rude.” But I shake those thoughts out of my head anyway. “And just call me Haru, everyone does.”

“Haru,” he tries it out, very seriously. “Okay, then you have to call me Takeshi.”

“That’s a mouthful, though. My name’s simple and easy, yours is…”

“Who’s being rude now?”

“You, of course.”

In a show of maturity, he sticks his tongue out at me. I do the same, just out of principle, but then we’re both giggling like idiots, and we have to pretend to have a coughing fit that just so happens to be at the same time when Hashi-sensei opens the door suddenly and brusquely, looking all annoyed at our behavior.

“Hey, Takeshi?”

“Hm?”

“See you here tomorrow?”

Takeshi gives me a thumbs up before heading back into his own classroom. It occurs to me that I may could be considered a terrible influence right now. A turns-perfectly-good-kids-into-delinquents kinda bad influence. On the other hand, I really don’t need math classes, and if Takeshi has any problems, I can always tutor him back into the path of the righteous.

Yeah, this works out. We’ll just have fun for a bit in school. That’s what school is for anyway.

***

Takeshi becomes a fixture in my life.

Our friendship evolves from hallway companions into recess playmates, and then I’m at his place eating sushi for free, while his Dad boasts about his son having found such a “polite” friend. Which is not a word anyone who knows me would use, but, you know, just let old people believe whatever makes them happy. 

Takeshi tries to come over to my house a few times, but then I would have to deal with my parents, and the fact that Takeshi might be under the impression that I’m a boy. Just… I know I should deal with that particular problem at some point in the near future, but I don’t feel like it, and I don’t want to bring it up with my parents, so. Avoidance it is! 

Perfectly healthy way to deal with life, if you ask me.

“I’m gonna join the baseball team in middle school,” Takeshi informs me out of nowhere one lazy afternoon, as I lay about absorbing the sun like some kind of cold-blooded lizard. 

“You play baseball?”

“Used to.”

Ouch, touchy subject. Probably should’ve guessed there would be some unlocked, tragic backstory involved. Takeshi has a sort of grave air around him that makes me want to punch something, but that wouldn’t be very conductive to my two main goals here: having a great summer vacation, and improving his mood. So instead I sit up.

“You need practice, then! You won’t get a starter position unless you shape up. Got any baseball stuff at home?”

“A softball?”

“Good enough, let’s go!”

Once we acquire the necessary equipment, we head out to search for an abandoned lot. We find the perfect spot near the river, in a pretty desolate clearing with a big enough wall to serve as a target. I point to it, like a general ordering his archers to shoot, and Takeshi obligues.

And then a violent woosh of air hits my face.

My face must be a poem as I stare, in belated horror, at the ridiculous dent the softball has left on the wall. The ball falls on the ground with a soft squicky sound that has nothing to do with the sheer destructive force I have just witnessed. A few crumbs falling from the wall, I turn to stare at Takeshi in… horror? Awe? Some weird combination of both.

“You did this with just your arm?”

“I’m a pitcher,” Takeshi says, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like breaking an honest to God brick wall is totally normal for primary school students.

“That was a _softball_.” My voice sounds torn between terror and awe. “ _How_.”

Takeshi shrugs, still completely unresponsive to this feat of nature. “Dad says I have a good arm.”

I have to choke down a snort. Good arm, he says. What kind of world is this? If a kid was capable of destroying public property with a softball in _my_ world, the local new would be all over him, lauding him as the next prodigy of the baseball world. _Good arm_ my ass.

“You said you’d help me practice.”

“Yeah, no, that was before I knew you could potentially destroy my arm with your freaky super fastball, dude. If that thing hits my head, I’ll die again for sure.”

Takeshi pauses. “Again?”

“The blast from that ball hitting the wall killed me. Just watching it killed me.”

“Well, but you’ll die helping a friend. Isn’t that important? Don’t you care about our friendship, Haru- _kun_?”

“Don’t you _Haru-kun_ me, you menace, you… you potential murderer!” But I’m weak, and also an idiot, and most likely bound to live another very short life unless I can get my priorities straight. “Fine, but if I die, I’m coming back as a ghost just to haunt you, and you’ll never make it into the Major League.”

“Fair,” Takeshi nods, very seriously. In that sort of serious way he gets sometimes, which makes everything seem like a life-or-death situation. Doesn’t make me feel any more confident on my continued survival, but what can you do. “I’ll do one as a warm up first.”

“Don’t break my hand.”

“I won’t! Probably.”

“ _Probably!?_ ”

Takeshi, the asshole, laughs. 

I’m not getting out of this alive, am I?

*******

“Oh my God, are you okay?” My mom, horrified, watches me march into the house with the same traumatized air of a war veteran. “Honey, what happened? Did you get into a fight?”

“You know Takeshi?”

“Did he hurt you!?”

“Oh, no.” I shouldn’t laugh, but at this point that’s all I can do. Seriously, that kind of force shouldn’t be possible. “We just played some baseball, is all.”

“Baseball!?”

“It was very intense baseball.”

“Haru-chan, you shouldn’t be—”

“I had fun, Mom.” In a way. Maybe I’m a masochist at heart. “Don’t worry, if I ever get into a real fight, I’ll make sure to punch them twice as hard as they punch me.”

“How about you do not get into a fight at all?” Dad says in passing, mildly amused by the whole conversation. 

“Won’t throw the first punch,” I answer, sagely, “but I’ll throw the last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for giving this a chance! Next up: our favorite (and tiniest) mafia boss!


End file.
